


Metamorphosis

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [42]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Fucked Up, Hemophilia, Implied Past Abuse, Panic, Paranoia, Prophetic Visions, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: This is the story of how the Author lost his mind.This is the story of how the Author tore his eyes out with his bare hands.This is the story of how the Author's metamorphosis into the Host began.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *W A R N I N G*
> 
> Look at the tags, people! If you are sensitive to any of that jazz, be cautious going ahead!
> 
> Anyway, a couple months back, when I posted 'The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword', a couple of you requested that I write a story detailing how the Host was introduced to the egos! I have written that story, it will be going up March 20, BUT I felt this particular event was VERY important to establish first! So enjoy!

The Author rang the doorbell once before kicking the door open, grinning madly with his bat draped over his shoulders. He stepped into the manor, an easy air about him, but he didn’t make it far before both Dark and Wilford were standing in front of him, blocking his path with murder in their eyes.

His grin widened. “Ooh, a welcome committee! Gotta admit, I got farther than anticipated. You two are losing your edge.”

Dark growled, aura thrashing violently at the same time Wilford’s cracked into existence, the swirling colors almost too bright to look at, especially at such a juxtaposition to Dark’s. The demon’s aura flared again, creeping around the Author’s leg. “Why are you _here_?”

The Author shook his leg free, bat dropping from his shoulders and the end thumping to the ground, the handle held in a loose grip. “I think you know exactly why I’m here. Honestly, I’m wounded! A new ego in town and no one tells me?” His grin turned feral, golden eyes _glittering_. “Besides, you can’t honestly be surprised to see me. I said I would be back last time I was here. I bet King remembers. Dontcha, King?” He raised his voice for the last two sentences, eyes flashing when he spotted a bit of red through the two powerful auras.

“Get out.” Wilford’s voice was uncharacteristically short, his strange slur all but vanished.

The Author raised his hands placatingly – effect mostly ruined by the bat he still wielded – and he bowed his head to them. “Relax! I’m just here to say hello, then I’ll be on my way, alright? Come on, you can allow me that! I don’t even have a notebook or any pens on me!”

Dark and Wilford exchanged glances, and after a long moment they parted, auras withdrawing but certainly not vanishing. The four other egos were revealed, having gathered behind the two eldest, and the Author’s gaze was almost immediately drawn to King. The skittish ego was stepping in time with Wilford, hiding behind him with both arms crossed over his chest protectively, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. The Author’s grin widened just that little bit more when he spotted the _nasty_ scar on the back of his right arm, cutting right through the middle of his forearm in a jagged line.

Finally, he let his eyes slide away from King, stepping forward and trailing his bat along the floor behind him. Completely ignoring the Jims beyond flashing them a grin and watching them cling to each other, he stopped in front of the new one. Taking in his head mirror and white coat, he cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Ooh, a doctor! They could’ve used _you_ a couple months ago!”

The doctor stared him down, stubborn defiance written throughout his whole body and especially in his eyes. “I heard.” He stuck out a hand. “Dr. Iplier. And you must be the Author. I’ve heard a _lot_ about you.”

The Author laughed, shaking his hand. “Oh I like you. Seriously, why wasn’t I allowed to meet you sooner? You’ve been around what, a week? Less?” He spun back around with no warning, hefting his bat back over his shoulders and not quite caring that he sent Dr. Iplier scrambling out of the way. “Welp, I’ve said my piece. I’ll leave now, I can see you two are getting antsy.” He flashed Dark and Wilford a smile, watching the way their auras twitched and expanded, King now almost completely hidden from view by the swirling psychedelic mess of Wilford’s aura. He started his way back down the hall, humming some tune to himself.

And then he caught his reflection.

His entire body went rigid as he stared into the hallway mirror, at the reflection staring back at him. It was of a man, dressed in what looked like a trench coat with his hands held behind his back and a smug, knowing smirk plastered to his face, a blond streak running through the left side of his hair. But what made the Author freeze were his _eyes_. They were _gone_ , leaving nothing but black bottomless _pits_ in their wake. The reflection’s smirk grew into a wide grin as blood began to pool in his sockets, trailing down his cheeks in bloody tears and the Author finally snapped out of his horrified reverie. His grip tightened on his bat and he swung it with all the force he could muster. It connected with a resounding _crack!_ against the mirror, followed by the sound of shattering glass, and the Author suddenly found himself staring at thousands of splintered versions of his own terrified face.

The tip of his bat hit the floor, the Author holding the handle in an iron grip as he shook, breathing heavily. His head whipped around, glancing at the other egos, all staring at him with varied mixes of fear and confusion and _dead_ silent. His expression contorted into a deep scowl, golden eyes burning bright, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the Jims flinch. Closing his eyes, and in some twisted way to gain back control of the situation, he let his aura manifest, washing over him and soothing him greatly. When he opened his eyes again, he split in an easy grin, sighing and rolling his shoulders back, when he saw the red mist of his aura trailing broadly after ever movement he made, wisping around him.

Picking up his pace down the hallway, words began to appear in the dark, _dark_ red color of dried blood in his aura as it lengthened behind him. He spun around again once he was in the doorway, leaning on his bat like a cane and pointing at Dr. Iplier. “It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you guys around.”

He saw Dr. Iplier’s brow furrow in something he couldn’t quite tell, but then the door was slamming in his face and he sighed, hefting his bat once more and beginning the long trek home.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the Author had made it to his cabin, he was shaking and _terrified_ , tears trailing down his face and his aura long-since vanished. _Every_ reflective surface he passed, all he saw was _him_ – that eyeless man with blood dripping down his face and that _smile_ – staring back at him. The first thing he did was smash every piece of glass in his home, till he was no longer shaking with blood dripping down his hands and there were scratches on his bat. He smirked, breathing hard with satisfaction coursing through him. No glass, no reflection, no man.

At least, that’s what he thought.

An hour later, _he_ appeared in his living room, staring down at him with the same smile, and the Author nearly had a heart attack, chucking his notebook at him in his surprise. He froze when his notebook just went straight through him, the man not even fazed. And then he winked out of existence, disappearing and leaving the Author terrified and gripping at his hair.

And it wouldn’t _stop_.

He saw him _everywhere_ ; it was like he was stalking him. At some point, it wasn’t just _him_ anymore either. Others had begun haunting him as well: a man with a dazzling grin and glitter in his hair, a ridiculous looking guy in a black and white costume, a cowboy, four identical guys in different solid color shirts with a ‘G’ emblazoned on them in glowing white, a man with ‘Bing’ glowing on his shirt for some reason, a kid with rounded glasses and a horrifically patterned shirt, and another man with the same glasses and blond hair. The Author tried to run, tried to _escape_ this sudden onslaught of _Hell_ , but when he threw open his door he was greeted by the sight of three more people: a woman dressed in black, a man with slicked back hair and a white flower on his lapel, and in between them was another, a man dressed in full military garb with odd-looking glasses and a bushy black mustache, all staring at him with grim expressions.

The Author stumbled back, fumbling for his bat by the door and _swung_ , the bat passing straight through the three strangers and connecting with the doorframe instead, completely splitting it. Breathing heavily, he whirled around, swinging wildly at the rest of them, eyes squeezed shut but the image of the one with missing eyes had been _burned_ into his brain, tormenting him even with his eyes closed. “No no _NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! WHO_ ARE _YOU?!_ ” He sobbed, bat clattering to the ground and he followed, crumpling to his knees and covering his face with his hands, nails digging into his skin and curling tight in on himself.

It only took him a day to break.

He thought, after a night’s sleep, that he would be fine, that it would be over. Instead, he was plagued by nightmares, with _him_ staring down at him even in his dreams and when he woke he was _still there_ , blood painting his teeth red. He scrambled to his feet, darting past the reflection the image the _vision_ and bolted to his bathroom, slamming the door and collapsing to his knees. He clawed at his eyes, he didn’t want to _see_ these _things_ , he didn’t want to _bear_ it why him _why him_ –

His nails dug in deeper than intended, and he choked back a cry of pain. He kept going though, tearing at his eyes and biting through the _agony_ he didn’t want to _see_ he didn’t _want_ to _see_ – he forcefully pushed his fingers into his sockets, pulling at his eyes, blood slicking his hands his fingers his face and making the struggle easier as he mutilated himself gruesomely.

“Author?”

He paused, going rigid at the voice, fingers still plunged deep into his sockets. It sounded like the new one, the doctor guy – Dr. Iplier. He gave a strained laugh, working his fingers in his sockets and beginning to _pull_. “What are _you_ doing here?” His voice sounded surprisingly even. “I figured the two lovebirds wouldn’t let their precious newbie anywhere _near_ me.”

“They don’t know I’m here.” Dr. Iplier sounded closer, his movements accompanied by the crunching of glass. “I came to check on you. You didn’t look so good yesterday.”

The Author gave another high-pitched laugh, beginning to tremble violently. “Why do you care? You said earlier – you’ve heard a _lot_ about me. You know the stuff I’ve done.”

“It’s my job to care.” He sounded right outside the door. “I’m a doctor. I don’t care what you’ve done. There’s something going on with you and its my mission to fix it.”

“Well _good for you!_ You’ve got morals!” The Author couldn’t quite smother the harsh gasp that escaped him when his right eye finally popped free with a sickening squelching noise.

Dr. Iplier knocked on the door. “Are…are you okay?”

He snorted. Cradling the organ in the palm of his hand, he continued to work his other eye free, shaking like a leaf. “Just _peachy!_ ” He let out a low growl when his nail got caught on the flesh of his socket. “You should leave. Who knows what I’ll do to you. I’ve been _dying_ to experiment more after working on King a couple of months ago.”

He heard Dr. Iplier shift. “You’re trying to scare me off. It won’t work.”

The Author grinned, blood dripping into his mouth. “Oh yeah? Did they tell you _exactly_ what I did to him? I forced him to break his own arm. Nearly snapped it completely off. I dragged a knife down his spine and he was _begging_ me to stop but I didn’t, not until he was _screaming_. I’ve _traumatized_ the Jims – more than once. _Imagine_ what I could do to you.” He finished his statement with a mix between a sob and a cry as he tore his nail free, his eye following suit. He laughed, high-pitched and strained, and his voice finally broke. “Besides, you’re too late. Little known fact about me, doctor – I have hemophilia! Not a serious case, I’m more on the tame side of the scale, but still very much there.”

Dr. Iplier was silent for a long while. The Author could hear his own blood dripping onto the floor, running his thumbs over the mutilated masses that were once his eyes. Distantly, he wondered if their unique golden irises were still visible. Finally, Dr. Iplier spoke, voice raw and fearful. “What did you _do?_ ”

The Author gave a hoarse chuckle, drawing a shuddering breath. He _hadn’t. Stopped. Shaking._ “Come in and _see_.”

He heard the door open, heard Dr. Iplier’s horrified gasp, his footsteps splashing slightly in what could only be the Author’s blood that had pooled around him. “Oh my God, oh my _God_ , what did you _do –_ ”

The Author curled further in on himself, back to the door and Dr. Iplier, hiding his face from view and grinning madly. “I don’t think you can _fix_ this, doctor.” His entire face had long-since gone numb, his words beginning to slur slightly. His head ached, something deep in his chest _ached_. “I think I’m a bit too broken for you to fix.”

Dr. Iplier place a hand on his back in an attempt to steady his violent trembling. “You don’t know that, just let me see it and I can –”

The Author whirled around, both eyes cradled in his hands with his thumbs pinning his optic nerve – still attached to his sockets – to his palms and grinning with far too much teeth, blood painting his face. He heard Dr. Iplier gag, heard him take a step back, and he tilted his head. “Can you _fix_ this, doctor, do you still believe you can _fix_ _me?_ ” He accentuated his final syllable with a sharp tug, _ripping_ his optic nerve free of his skull with a fresh wave of blood. He gave a delirious laugh, arms falling limp to his sides and sending his eyes rolling across the floor in the bloody pool. “No, I think I’m outside your skillset.”

He heard Dr. Iplier swallow harshly, but then he was guiding him to his feet, and he frowned as he began to speak. “We need to get you back to the manor. You said you had hemophilia, right? I may not…I may not be able to fix your-your eyes, but I can certainly make sure you don’t _die_.”

The Author’s frown deepened, brow furrowing in confusion. “…Why are you helping me? You know Dark and Wilford won’t like me being in the manor. They don’t trust me. No one there trusts me, and for good reason.”

He stumbled as Dr. Iplier linked their arms, beginning to lead him out the door and no doubt smearing blood all over his pristine white coat. “I don’t give a damn what they have to say. I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. Right now, you’re my patient, and I’m going to take care of you.”

The Author laughed – a genuine, tiny laugh. “I knew I liked you.” He winced when he stepped on the broken glass that now covered the floor of what was once his home. “Lead the way, doctor. My fate is in your hands.”

He felt Dr. Iplier turn to face him, and the Author offered him a tight smile. Suddenly he tensed, already faltering footsteps halting completely as realization struck him:

His reflection in the doctor’s head mirror was the same eyeless man he had been so afraid of in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. Beyond fucked up. Just how I like it. ANYWAY, I hope you guys enjoyed this! OH, and speaking of requests, to the human that requested something about Abe the Detective, that will be going up Wednesday! See you guys then!


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